


Revenge

by unknown_knowns



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Death, Ever - Freeform, F/F, Graphic Violence, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Revenge, Suicide, Violence, don't open dead inside, probably don't read this one, seriously this is the darkest thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknown_knowns/pseuds/unknown_knowns
Summary: Max goes missing; Chloe fails for the last time.Something in her snaps.She takes her revenge.Perhaps something she should have done a long fucking time ago.





	Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> please read the warnings and tags. this is heavy. heaviest, darkest thing I've ever written. the most broken Chloe, the most violent, the most desperate, the most careless.
> 
> this is revenge porn where no one comes happy on the other end, and I've only written this to get it out of my head. maybe it will be cathartic to you if you've ever thought about a bad end where Nathan/Jefferson gets to Max, but ...

Chloe waited precisely one day.

To the hour.

To the minute.

To the second.

She checked her phone.

 

_max this isn’t funny_

_max_

_max_

_max. please. i need you_

 

_max_

 

_fuck_

 

Texts she knew to be pointless, now, to Max.

She’d already been through this once before, and she spent the entire day trying to convince herself that it wasn’t happening again.

Chloe was so fucking stupid …

She should have insisted Max sleep in her room to stay away from that fucking psycho.

 

But.

 

She knew what she needed to do, now.

Chloe left her phone in her room.

There was no one who wanted to communicate with her, anyway.

 

Chloe drove her truck to Blackwell sort of coldly, numbly.

It wasn’t that Chloe didn’t care for Max – far from it.

It wasn’t that Chloe wasn’t worried out of her goddamn mind for Max – far from it.

It wasn’t that Chloe didn’t already know what had happened – far from it.

But, like when Rachel was kidnapped, every fiber of Chloe’s being was dead-set on denying the reality that she already knew.

That this world wasn’t going to stop hurting her, until she either gave up or died.

 

Maybe fucking both.

 

It kept her pensive as she parked her car wrongly, shoved her hands coldly into her jacket, and stormed into the girl’s dorm.

She made her way to Max’s dorm.

A mostly familiar path, this time unguarded by anyone.

Chloe stopped at the edge of Max’s door, brought her hands out of her jacket, and clenched her firsts.

For a few seconds, she just breathed severely, looking at the floor, and considered what she was about to do.

If she just …

If she just never checked this room.

If she just never texted or called Max again.

If she just never talked to Max’s parents …

She could pretend Max was still here.

She could pretend that Max would, at any day, come back into her life, and resume fixing everything.

She could pretend.

She could pretend.

She could pretend.

Chloe sniffled.

She couldn’t fucking pretend.

She slammed on Max’s door.

“Max!”

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Chloe was crying, now.

No answer.

She kicked at the door.

No answer.

Chloe pulled herself away for a second, trying to pathetically compose herself.

She closed her eyes, pointed her face to the ceiling, and just tried to breathe in deep.

Something Max taught her, in the short time they had been reunited.

In the short, magical time.

But it didn’t fucking work.

When she looked back down, she noticed the dry-erase by Max’s door.

_ur fuking dead_

Nathan.

Chloe looked to Max’s door.

If she just stopped …

If she just pretended …

 

 

No.

 

 

Chloe was done pretending.

She was done caring.

With a furiously pained shout she slammed herself into the door so harshly the pathetic lock broke and the door relented.

Whence inside, Chloe stood at the center of Max’s room, just breathing so severely and crying and her world was blurry but –

She knew what she saw.

Max’s bed wasn’t made.

Her room was ransacked.

Her bag was still here.

Her hoodie was still here.

Her phone …

 

Chloe checked it.

It was fucking locked, of course, but there were still previews of messages on the lock screen.

Missed calls from Chloe.

Chloe’s texts.

And …

_ur fuking dead_

Nathan.

Chloe gripped the phone so tightly she was sure she was going to break it.

Instead, she just threw it across the room, opposite to the other side of the wall, and just froze.

She started to hyperventilate.

Chloe had failed to protect someone else, once again.

Someone she fucking knew was dangerous.

Someone she fucking knew was responsible.

Someone she fucking knew deserved to die.

And this last punch the world delivered to her, this last knife wound, this last gunshot wound, this last betrayal snapped something deep, miserable inside of Chloe.

The last of her frayed will to live, months abused by Rachel’s disappearance and given only token tatters of a repair with Max’s return.

Chloe had nothing.

She had even less than nothing.

She had something return to her life just to remind her how much more she had yet to lose.

How much more suffering and pain she could go through.

 

Chloe closed her eyes.

And stopped crying, with some difficulty.

She steadied her breathing.

She cracked her neck.

She understood the world, now.

 

Chloe opened her eyes for the first time in her life.

And left the shell of her prior life behind.

 

 

She knew what she had to do.

 

[("His Master's Voice" - Monsters of Folk)](https://open.spotify.com/track/2m6KrYK0WUYikJ0RdCXJy7?si=arr6V7TFQCuTMLpaqe1J3Q)

Chloe calmly but quickly walked back to her truck.

She put it in gear and drove back to her house.

She entered her house, kicked the garage door open, and coldly walked into it.

The severity of her breathing only came from the exertion she put her body through; there was no agony in her emotions, anymore.

There was only purpose.

Divine purpose.

Chloe walked in front of David’s gun rack.

Some unassuming wooden thing with a glass latched cover and a serious-looking lock.

Chloe examined the lock, and decided she didn’t have the time to pick it.

Her time was short for this world.

Chloe took off her shirt, wrapped it around her hand, and slammed it through the glass cover.

Dainty little glass, easy to shatter, easy to bend to her will.

The case yielded to her, and she picked up one of the guns, a nice revolver.

Chloe always liked revolvers.

She shook off the shards of glass from both the gun and her shirt, put her shirt back on, and holstered the gun into her waistline.

She had a few cuts on her hand, now.

She didn’t care.

The glass simply cut and didn’t embed, and the pain was liberating, anyway.

Ammo.

Chloe sharply looked around.

There was an ammo box for the various guns underneath the gun rack.

She kicked the box over, and watched the bullets skitter across the floor, like cockroaches waiting to be stomped on.

After the chaos ended, she calmly bent her knees and picked up six bullets.

 

But she only needed two.

 

The gun was loaded.

Chloe was done, here.

But she spied a baton, on David’s workstation.

That could be useful.

She smirked.

She picked it up.

She walked back to her truck, twirling the baton.

She put the truck into gear.

And drove back to Blackwell.

 

This time, she didn’t even bother to park in the parking lot.

She just stopped outside, on the street, near the front entrance.

She left her truck, and barely even bothered to close the door.

She certainly didn’t lock it.

There was no point.

Her time was short.

Someone else would find what value they needed from her truck, later.

Everyone was in class, now.

Except Nathan, and a few choice others.

Their involvement with the whole Kate situation gave them a lot of fucking time to sit in their dorm room and think, these days.

Perfect.

Chloe evenly made her way across campus, keeping her gun and baton holstered to avoid too much obvious suspicion – though unbeknownst to her her glass-tattered shirt and bloody hand would draw attention from a mile away were anyone to see it – and entered the men’s dorm.

She walked in front of Nathan’s door.

 

She pulled out the baton and the gun, and knocked on the door – nearly banging it – with her baton.

But her anger wasn’t uneven.

This wasn’t unrefined.

Chloe knew exactly what she was doing, and exactly what the consequences were.

And she simply didn’t care.

Her drive was divine, now.

Her life had meaning.

So long as she followed through.

 

Nathan eventually answered the door, after enough banging, and had all of one second to realize was happening before Chloe _slammed_ the baton across his face.

He stumbled back, and emitted such a horrid pained sound, but this wasn’t good enough for Chloe.

She kicked him in the chest as harshly as he could.

This got him falling onto his back, like she wanted.

Good.

Chloe walked into his room and kicked the door close behind her.

It’d still be only a few seconds, and Nathan was just barely keeping up with what was going on.

“Wh --- what the _fuck_ \---”

Chloe _slammed_ the baton down on one of his knees.

That got a proper scream out of Nathan.

Good.

He writhed, and scrunched up, into a kind of sitting position, and moved to hold and protect his knee, though it was obviously too late.

The blood coming from his face felt vindicating.

His disfigurement was already tremendously satisfying.

But Chloe wasn’t done, and Nathan had but one chance to redeem himself.

“Where’s Max. Where’s Rachel.”

They almost weren’t questions, more of guttural growls, some deep and miserably and evenly angry thing.

Nathan finally looked up to Chloe, seeing the blood on her hands and the tatter of her shirt and the severity of her features and just gasped.

“You … you can’t just ---”

Wrong answer.

For his transgressions in trying to rape Chloe, Chloe brought the baton down right on his groin.

She hope she fucking shattered something, and when he screamed again and his hands moved once more to hold what had been wounded, Chloe kicked him in the face down onto the floor.

He was crying, now.

Good.

She walked over to his side, brought the gun up, pointed it to his face, and pulled the hammer back.

It was unnecessary, but pointed.

“Where.”

Staring down the barrel of a loaded gun is a life-changing experience, and many assumptions one makes about how they would act prove to be wrong.

And Nathan, despite filled with so much pain and fear and confusion and hate –

He completely broke at this sight, into desperate, open pained sobbing.

He couldn’t even form words.

This, finally, broke Chloe’s evenness in her anger.

She kicked him in the side.

“Where!”

He kept crying.

She kicked him again.

“ _Where_!?”

He kept crying.

She kicked him again.

“ _WHERE_?!”

Nathan pathetically raised his hands up, trying to motion for Chloe to stop.

“S-s-s-s-stop … I ..”

He was hyperventilating, now with the fear of divine god in him, and still openly sobbing.

Nathan opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling of his room, too afraid to look Chloe in the eyes.

He knew his time was short, now.

And Nathan knew that if he was to go, someone else deserved to go with him.

“Mr … J-j-j-j-j-jefferson … H-he … he … he … he … organized …”

Nathan couldn’t finish the thought, though, instead just pointing to his desk.

He too, knew what he had to do.

“Top … top … _fuckin’_ … top!”

Chloe coldly looked away from the bleeding, pathetically broken Nathan to where he was pointing.

Top.

Top shelf, probably.

Nathan just collapsed inwards, hiding his face with his hands.

He knew what Chloe would do when she found the folder.

He knew what her reaction would be when she tore the top drawer open, saw the folder labeled “Max”, and saw the photos within.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Chloe took one, two, three, four seconds to process the information.

To look at the photos.

Mr. Jefferson’s notes.

Max.

Max.

Max …

Chloe had failed.

She couldn’t even protect Max from a fate worse than death.

She tossed the folder onto the bed, cracked her neck, and looked back at Nathan.

She couldn’t protect.

But she could kill.

She could take the revenge that the universe owed her.

She walked back over to Nathan, and started violently wailing on him with the baton – face, chest, neck, arms, whatever, she didn't care – until he simply stopped moving.

For a few seconds, Chloe stood, heavy with her exertion, over Nathan’s body, all at once numb and too feeling with adrenaline and purpose.

She saw what she had done.

The monster she now was.

 

And for just a second – for one moment – there was regret.

She had gone too far.

Did Nathan deserve a death like this?

Did he deserve literally any other kind of death?

But the moment was quick, and it was fleeting.

Her motivation was divine.

This is exactly how he should go; terrified, pissing himself, crippled, disfigured, and overwhelmed with agony.

Chloe raised the gun to his head, shot evenly, calmly, and took the folder with her as she left his room.

She holstered the baton, and the blood from it started to soak into her legs and pants, but she didn’t care.

Her time was short.

 

Not that Chloe cared, but pretty much everyone was in class, so this would make it easy.

She wouldn’t have to deal with anyone else having heard what she did to Nathan.

She could finish her mission without any further doubts or difficult.

She could fulfill her purpose.

Chloe made her way across campus, into the main halls of the building, still unaware that she was now even more bloody.

Blood spatter from wailing on Nathan when he was already bleeding, not to mention her hand being basically entirely covered in blood now.

It didn’t matter.

Mr. Madsen probably should have been around somewhere, but he was probably investigating the gunshot instead.

Assuming he was even 10% competent, which was a tall ask.

Still, by the time he got to Nathan and found out what had happened … Chloe would be where she wanted.

The last stop in her life.

 

Mr. Jefferson’s class room.

 

She kicked the door open.

And she didn’t hesitate.

One second.

The gun was up.

Mr. Jefferson, dead, cleanly with just one bullet through his head.

Perhaps a fate too simple, too easy for him.

Chloe didn’t know if Mr. Jefferson raped like Nathan did, or if he simply orchestrated these fucking abductions.

It didn’t matter.

They were dead, now.

 

His class exploded into screaming.

Chloe frowned.

She shot the gun, again, to break one of the windows, then pointed the gun up the ceiling.

“Quiet.”

Her voice was fully unrecognizable to Chloe, now.

It wasn’t her own.

It was deep, broken, tattered, uneven, abysmally drained, and viscerally angry.

The class went quiet, staring horrified at the bloody scene, and the bloody Chloe.

 

“Nathan and Jefferson … abducted everyone. Max. Rachel … who knows who else. Here’s your fucking proof.”

 

Chloe slammed the folder labeled ‘Max’ onto the floor.

Her duty, complete.

Her life, complete.

There was no point in this monstrous, murderous, careless, angry version of Chloe existing, anymore.

Even if Rachel or Max were somehow alive, even if they weren’t forever scarred by the horrifying photos Chloe saw, they wouldn’t recognize this Chloe as theirs.

Because the Chloe they knew died, already.

This was just a storm coming after the fact to take its revenge on the injustices she suffered.

“Forgive me, Max, Rachel …”

Despite the adrenaline in her system, Chloe didn’t shake when she brought the gun down from the ceiling and to the side of her head.

She was at peace.

She wasn’t able to protect either Rachel or Max, or even herself, but she did the only thing she could do right.

She got revenge.

There would be no forgiveness for her in the afterlife, if any such existed.

But maybe forever being tormented is what the universe wanted out of her, anyway.

It’s what it felt like, these days.

And at least Max and Rachel would find peace, knowing the unfairness in their lives were corrected.

 

No one was going to miss her, anyway.

The class was screaming as she pulled the trigger, and collapsed onto the floor.

But Chloe didn’t care.

It was a diffuse kind of thing.

She blocked it out.

 

Her last coherent thought was of the three of them,

Max, Chloe, and Rachel,

snuggled together on

some couch somewhere,

watching

some horror movie.

 

Max would jump

anytime something scary happened,

and was sandwiched between

Chloe and Rachel,

who would

steady her.

 

Rachel would

give her little cute

kisses

to her forehead, and

lazily

stroke at Chloe’s

shoulder.

Chloe would

keep one

of Max’s

hands

and

squeeze

it.

 

She

could

 

pretend

 

finally.

 

\---

 

Mr. Wells gulped his wine down while he watched the news on his computer.

The headline now forever burned into his memory.

 

_Blackwell Academy forcibly closed after string of violent deaths and disappearances; DA to press charges against staff_

He was never the same, again.

Maybe no one was.

Maybe no one could ever be.

 

How could anyone forget what happened here?

 

**Author's Note:**

> in case the song choice didn't make it obvious, there was some inspiration from a particular scene from "Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri", wherein a police office takes justice into his own hands


End file.
